The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  Karla relaxed a little when she realised it was him, gazing around as if not quite sure where she was. ‘I’m all right,’ she said.

  Jason very much doubted that. She looked disorientated, out of it. ‘What are you doing here, Karla?’ he asked her, feeling sick to his gut that he was the cause of this.

  Karla laughed – a small, defeated laugh. ‘I live here,’ she reminded him. ‘I went to check on the children, and… I don’t know. I sat down. I must have dozed off.’

  On the hall floor? Because she’d drunk too much, Jason deduced, feeling her pain, her utter bewilderment. He wished he could communicate that much to her. That he felt it, too. That he always would.

  ‘Did you not recognise me?’ Karla added, with a heart-wrenching smile.

  Jason swallowed. He guessed she was referring to her hair, which she’d worn sweeping her shoulders not so long ago. Jason tried not to recall the soft, silky feel of it, how he’d never been able to resist twining it around his hands as they made sweet love together. Now it was short, and dyed a striking auburn. It suited her face. She had beautiful bone structure, high cheekbones; she was perfect. He couldn’t help feeling that this new look just wasn’t her though.

  Karla’s fingers went to the nape of her neck. ‘It’s temporary, the hair colour – comb in and wash out,’ she said, as if reading his mind. She’d always been pretty shrewd at that.

  ‘I gathered.’ Jason’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘It’s run a bit.’ He nodded towards her neck; resisted reaching to wipe the tell-tale drip of watery auburn away.

  ‘Ah.’ Karla touched her fingers to it. ‘I went walking in the rain,’ she said. Noting the immense sadness in her eyes, Jason looked away. He had to. His mind had immediately gone to Jessie and the comment she’d made about romantic walks in the rain.

  Looking back to Karla, his gaze strayed to her hand, now resting at the soft hollow of her neck. Her ring finger was bare, he noticed. He simply couldn’t allow his mind to go there. ‘You broke a nail,’ he said throatily.

  Her expression surprised, Karla turned the back of her hand towards her face, going slightly cross-eyed as she examined it. ‘Oh,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘Not to worry. It’s just another little piece of me.’

  Jason drew in a breath. It stopped short of his chest. ‘You need to lie down,’ he said, carefully threading an arm around her.

  ‘There are many pieces, you know, that make up the whole of me,’ Karla went on, allowing him to ease her to her feet.

  ‘I know.’ Jason nodded. He did know. The carefree side of her, the woman who would let go of her worries and mesmerise people on the dance floor – she’d lost that part of herself because of him.

  ‘Does she have nice hair?’ Karla asked him, as he attempted to help her towards the stairs.

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Jessie, your girlfriend.’

  Jason stopped walking.

  ‘I like her belly button piercing.’

  Jesus. Jason’s heart dropped like a stone.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  KARLA

  My heart beats erratically in a combination of fear and curiosity as I wait for Jason’s reaction to my announcement that I’ve looked at his phone; that I know about her. She’s fake, I want to scream. Can’t you see that this is a woman presenting what she imagines men want? Is this woman, with her fake tan and body piercings, what Jason really wants? My heart thrums faster. Light-headed with nausea and nerves, I feel the floor shift beneath me.

  Jason’s eyes are agonised, his expression somewhere between deep shame and anger. ‘Christ,’ he utters, eventually, and slips his arm from around me.

  But who is he angry with, I wonder, tears springing to my eyes. Me? Why? I made a mistake; I pressurised him. I didn’t trust him. Sided with my deplorable father against him. I’m deeply ashamed, but was it really that bad? Was anything I did ever really that bad? Because if it was, then I must be completely insensitive, because I don’t remember myself that way.

  ‘She’s obviously the confident sort, flaunting her body jewellery like that,’ I say, my own anger rising as I bite the tears back. ‘But then, perhaps she hasn’t had her confidence crushed by a man too cowardly to tell her the truth!’

  Jason looks away. ‘We should talk about this later, Karla,’ he says, uncomfortably. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Yes, now,’ I demand, as he moves away. ‘Does that do it for you, Jason?’ I follow him, catching his arm and commanding his attention. ‘Fantasising about what you’re going to do to her when she sends you her teasing little photos, does that do it for you?’

  Jason looks ill, so very tired, but still I can’t curtail the fury festering inside me. Because I’m hurting. Can’t he see that?

  ‘Do you visualise her?’ I ask him. ‘Lying beneath you, as you—’

  ‘Karla, stop,’ Jason says, the blood visibly draining from his face.

  ‘Imagine her piercings pressing into your skin?’ I don’t stop. With tears cascading down my face, though I try hard not to let them, and fury and humiliation driving me, I can’t stop. ‘Do you want to lick her flat belly, Jason?’ Mine’s flat! I want to shout. I can’t eat. I can’t breathe. Do you even know what I look like? ‘Trail your tongue over her salty, wet skin? Push it into her mouth? Bite her? Work your way down her body and—’

  ‘Enough!’ Jason raises his voice, his face now rigid with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Karla, just stop this, will you?’

  ‘Why should I?’ I clench my fists at my sides, my fingernails digging painfully into my flesh. ‘What do you expect me to do? Say nothing? Pay her a bloody compliment?’

  Jason looks destabilised for a second, alarm flitting across his features, as I step towards him.

  ‘You were concerned, weren’t you, when you saw me sitting there?’

  He kneads his forehead. ‘Of course I was. You were damn near unconscious. I thought you were…’ He falters, clearly unable to voice his fear – that he might have had to explain away how his actions killed me. And he has, on the inside; he’s killed me stone dead. ‘Karla, please… I’m begging you, don’t do this now.’

  ‘Begging?’ I laugh, disbelieving. ‘Would that have worked for me, do you think? If I’d begged you, would you have stopped?’

  Jason says nothing. He sighs heavily instead, which only riles me further.

  ‘I wonder how concerned my husband would have been on finding me semi-conscious if he’d known how I came to be in that state?’ I push on. I can’t help myself. My heart is fracturing, a thousand sharp shards of glass slicing painfully into me, because I know. I know that even if I did fall to my knees – right here, right now – he wouldn’t stop. Emotionally, he has left me, and I can’t bear it. I can’t. ‘I’ll tell you how, shall I?’

  Jason attempts to walk past me. I sidestep, blocking him. ‘I was out dancing, Jason. You know that thing I used to do, when I had fun in my life? Dancing and drinking – with my very own dating site “hook-up”, as it happens. As a prelude to having sex with him!’

  ‘Jesus.’ Jason looks heavenwards.

  There’s no one up there! I cry inside. I know this, too. I prayed so many times when Sarah died. When I realised my husband’s love for me was dying, I prayed like I’ve never prayed before. No one heard me.

  ‘Would you have been worried, Jason, if you’d known that about your wife, the woman you think you know so well? Someone who’s just a boring mother, clearly a boring lover, too tired and worried to be adventurous in bed?’

  Jason doesn’t answer. One arm across his chest, his forehead resting now on his hand, his gaze is fixed to the floor.

  ‘Someone who works to pay the bills, who can’t afford to take risks, do something different with her life before it’s too late! The mother of your children, Jason! The woman who gave up her dreams to be with you, and who you think you can casually cast aside for some slut you imagine will spice up your life and shore up your flagging self-esteem!’

  I flail an arm o
ut, stopping Jason as he tries again to walk around me. ‘Why was it flagging? Answer me that.’

  Jason says nothing.

  ‘Because you failed,’ I answer for him, cruelly, almost wanting to goad him. I want him to shout back, to fight, to scream. I want him to fight for me.

  Jason’s eyes are full of hurt as he looks at me. His jaw is tense, but other than that, he doesn’t react.

  ‘You’re responsible for your company going under. No one else.’ Guilt tugs at my conscience as I blurt the words out. But even knowing how much I’m hurting him, still I can’t subdue the monster inside me. ‘You wouldn’t have needed my father’s money if you’d managed your business properly. You could’ve sold it before you had to and done something different – or else swallowed your pride and taken the damn money!’

  Jason holds my gaze. His eyes are thunderous, so dark they’re almost black. ‘I did swallow my pride, Karla,’ he says quietly. ‘If I’d taken the money, trust me, that really would have made me a failure. Now, if you wouldn’t very much mind, I’d like to get to my son.’

  His gaze travels to the hallway beyond me, his line of vision lowering, and my blood freezes. Whirling around, I wish I could suck the words back. It’s too late. My little boy has heard it all, every foul thing that has spilled from my mouth.

  ‘Josh…’ I take a tentative step towards him, but Josh steps back, darting a glance at his father. ‘Josh, I’m so sorry baby,’ I say tremulously. ‘I’m not angry with you, sweetheart.’

  Taking another step, I extend my hands, desperate to reassure him. To feel his small body close to mine.

  Josh doesn’t move. His little face is bewildered; his fists are balled defensively at his sides. I look into his eyes – rich brown eyes that mirror his father’s, full of uncertainty and fear. He has tears streaming down his cheeks. I blink away a rush of shame-filled emotion as I realise it’s me he’s frightened of.

  Jason steps sideways past me as I stand there, feeling impotent under the distrustful gaze of my innocent child. He places his hands on our son’s shoulders. Then, looking me over with a mixture of disappointment and remorse, he turns his gaze to the stairs.

  My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as I realise Holly is there, standing uncertainly halfway down. ‘You’re a horrible person,’ she whispers, fixing me with a defiant glare.

  ‘Holly…’ Jason says quietly.

  Holly’s eyes flick to his.

  Jason doesn’t say any more, simply shakes his head. It’s enough. Heeding his unspoken warning, Holly drags her disgusted gaze away from me and turns to flee up the stairs.

  ‘Come on, tiger.’ His voice strained, Jason turns his attention back to Josh. ‘Let’s go and get dressed, and then we can grab breakfast on the way, hey?’

  Josh’s reproachful eyes stay on mine for a second, and then he permits his father to steer him away, guiding him up the stairs before him.

  They’re on the landing when I hear Josh ask, ‘Do I have to go to school, Dad?’ His voice is tearful and anguished.

  ‘No, Josh,’ Jason says hoarsely. ‘You don’t have to go to school. Not today.’

  The day I broke my babies’ hearts. I clamp my hands over my face and gulp back the wretched sob climbing my throat. He’s stealing them, stealing my babies away from me.

  No, he isn’t. The voice that speaks the guilt I will carry forever echoes in my head. It’s you who’ll be to blame if you lose them. You’re driving them away.

  THIRTY-SIX

  KARLA

  It’s not quite light when I hear the bedroom door open. Jason, I guess, bringing me tea. I’m not sure why, after the vile things I said to him – with my children in earshot. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that. I don’t think my children will either.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, as he places the cup on the bedside table next to me.

  His voice is soft, concerned, and my heart breaks a little bit more. I don’t answer. I don’t dare, in case it initiates another argument. I don’t want to fight with him any more. I’m not sure I have the will to. I haven’t had the energy to do anything but stay cocooned in my bed, trying to escape the dark mood that hangs over me like a heavy grey blanket. I have no idea how to speak to him now, in any case. No idea whether there’s anything left to say.

  Jason has been awkward around me. Obviously, he would be. At one point, I felt like I wanted to die, but I don’t want to leave my children. When I imagined that, I cried tears of raw grief. Silent tears. Jason was in the spare room, but I didn’t want him to hear me crying, my children to hear my heart breaking. He would care for them if I simply ceased to be, I know this to be true. He would also have enough money from the insurance to provide for them until he discovered what he wanted to do with his life, now he’s selling the business that ripped us apart.

  I’ve no doubt his future plans include his notion of the perfect woman. Does he really imagine she exists? That I’m really so imperfect, since I adapted who I am to become a wife and a mother? Or did he think me imperfect before then?

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ he says tentatively.

  I nod, but I don’t turn to him. I can’t bear for him to see me like this. I can’t bear to see me like this. I will rouse myself. I have to get up today and function on some level. Try to repair the relationship with my children, whose behaviour around me now is stilted, their looks guarded.

  Hearing Jason’s heavy sigh as he walks away, closing the bedroom door softly behind him, I close my eyes, burrow deeper into my cocoon and allow the fresh tears to fall.

  My mind drifts for a while, searching for happier memories to latch on to. Try as I might, as horribly sorry for myself as I’m feeling, I can’t seem to find any that aren’t tinged with sadness. Somewhere between consciousness and slumber, I am in another time, another place, another bed, thin winter sunlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I strain my ears for the sounds of birdsong, people stirring, the familiar soft sounds of my sister sleeping. Nothing. The stillness is profound.

  ‘Sarah?’ Glancing across to her twin bed, I whisper her name. She doesn’t respond, even to grunt moodily, as she usually does, and wriggle away from me. Pushing my duvet back, a shiver runs through me as the icy air greets me. I hitch my legs over my bed and pad towards her, my small feet making no sound on the thick carpet.

  ‘Sarah?’ Goosebumps prickle my skin, and I whisper more urgently. She doesn’t hear me. She is lying on her back, her eyes closed, her expression… serene. Her skin is pale, like alabaster. Obliquely, I’m reminded of the porcelain dolls we coveted when visiting a doll shop in Knightsbridge. Her lips are strangely blue.

  ‘Sarah, wake up.’ My voice is small. I’m growing scared, angry. I don’t like this game. ‘Sarah, stop it.’ I reach out to touch her, warm flesh against cold, and my hand recoils in an instant. And then someone is screaming, loud, long and piercing. Seconds pass – firm arms encircle me, a voice tries to shush me – before I realise that someone is me.

  Then I am startled by a nearer sound: my children’s voices permeating the shrill noise in my head; the slam of the front door.

  Hell! Panic-stricken, I throw back the duvet and stumble woozily to the window to see Jason walking our children to the car. Josh is lagging behind, as he always does, his eyes on his iPad. Holly has taken hold of Jason’s hand. She’s looking up at him, her little face serious, nodding thoughtfully as she digests whatever he’s telling her. Most likely he’s trying to reassure her about me. I’d overheard him telling them, ‘Mummy’s a bit poorly,’ after my deranged behaviour the other morning. What does he say to them in private, I wonder. How is he convincing them that this nightmare will have a fairy-tale ending?

  I curse myself for going back to sleep. I should have been up, hugging them close, assuring them myself that I would be well soon, back to normal. Though, in truth, I don’t know that I ever will be. I feel as if I’m falling, that no matter how hard I flail out,
there is no branch to hang on to, that when I land, the me I knew won’t exist any more.

  Watching my babies climb into the car, I press the flat of my hand against the glass, as if I might draw them to look up at me. They don’t. They’re both too preoccupied with their father. I would never have disillusioned them about him, rubbished him in their eyes, had my grief and anger not driven me beyond rationality. I would have lied for him, whatever the future holds, because I love my children. Because I love him still. I can’t imagine a time when my heart won’t feel as if it’s bleeding steadily inside me. But the hateful words spilled from my mouth without process of forethought. Without a second’s consideration for Holly and Josh, who were just upstairs. What kind of mother am I, really? What kind of person am I?

  Imperfect. A monster.

  My mobile rings as I’m making my way back across the room, willing myself to shower and get dressed. I don’t want to answer it, but thinking it might be Mum, and knowing how worried she will be, I reach for it.

  Not Mum. I note the number of the housing association I work for, and the knot of guilt in my stomach twists itself tighter. I’ve rung in, but I can’t bring myself to go back to work. A shudder runs through me as I recall my bitchy behaviour towards the girls in the admin office, who haven’t spoken to me since, other than out of necessity about anything work-related. I can’t face them, any of my colleagues. Not now. Not like this.

  Reluctantly, I take the call, guessing they’re checking to see how long I might be off sick. Fervently, I hope it isn’t the girl I reduced to tears. Oh no. My guilt multiplies as I realise it’s the chief executive himself.

  ‘Karla, how are you?’ John asks, pleasant and cheery, as always. I wish he wasn’t. I don’t feel I can rise to it.

  ‘Still a bit wobbly,’ I say, not quite lying.

  John tsks in sympathy. ‘It’s a nasty bug,’ he says of the flu I’m supposed to have, which is going around. ‘Well, don’t you worry about rushing back,’ he adds. ‘Just take your time and make sure you’re fully recovered before you return to work.’